


I'm Asking You Nicely

by TheManSings



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManSings/pseuds/TheManSings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer heat may be frying his mind a little but Mickey is pretty sure the song coming out of this ice cream truck is trying to kill him. And he's never been one to go down without a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Asking You Nicely

Mickey had never really been patient. Ok – he _wasn’t_ patient at all. In fact he was one big ball full of fucking hurry up already. Sometimes it was good, like when he and Ian needed to get off quick before Linda got back to the store, or when he needed to book it from the cops. Impatience and jumpy muscles made that a bit easier for him, worked _for_ him not against him.

“It’s summertime Mickey. You can’t just tell ice cream trucks to not be outside.” Debbie Gallagher was sitting on the steps of his front porch chewing on a popsicle. He didn’t get why she was there, why she seemed so obsessed with his sister lately.

“They can stay outside all day if they fucking want as long as they STOP PLAYING THAT SONG!” He yelled out to the truck idling a few yards down the road from them.

The driver flipped him off and Debbie laughed. “You’re kinda an angry person aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Where’s your brother?”

“Lip? Out with Kevin in the ice cream truck.” Mickey opened his mouth to yell when she cut him off – “Not _that_ ice cream truck.”

“Fuck all I care about Lip I meant Ian.”

She worked the idea over in her mind and shrugged focusing again on the popsicle. “Dunno.”

He scratched at his neck and shut his eyes to the song. Was it just him or was it getting louder. Can they even control the volume on those things or is it just a constant attempt at torture.

“God why do kids like that? I mean seriously.” He twirled and looked back at the only other red headed Gallagher. “You’re telling me that’s soothing? Like you think of ice cream and that plays in your head?” His eyebrows shot up in disbelief not even caring what her answer was. “I think fucking not.”

A fat kid about 10 years old waddled up over to the side of the truck. He slapped a $5 down and pointed to one of the faded pictures on the side. “You don’t need it kid!” Mickey hollered over cupping his hands as a makeshift megaphone. “Just walk away!”

It earned him two fuck offs this time.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Debbie quipped behind him.

“Mind your own business.”

She stood up and huffed past him pushing through the iron gate and letting it slam behind her. It made him smile because it was so very _Ian_. Mickey sat down and pulled out a cigarette. It was too hot for one but the song was pushing him closer and closer to becoming homicidal. He had a whole new appreciation for dog whistles and how fucking cruel those must be.

“Oh my god shut up!!!” He yelled before dropping his head in his hands and jamming his fingers into his ears. Maybe he could perforate his eardrums.

The song turned off for a few seconds and he didn’t look because he didn’t want to jinx it. It was too good to be true. 45 minutes of pure pain was now silence and he would give his left nut to keep it that way so whatever he was doing – he wasn’t going to stop doing it. He practically fucking held his breath.

And then _BAM_! He whipped his head up and saw the fucking truck now parked directly in front of his house. The asshole behind the wheel wearing the smuggest grin he’d ever seen and his hand turning a knob up and up and up. They could control the volume. He could control the fucking volume.

 

 

“What are you doing?” Debbie pulled the book down under her nose and glared at him. He ignored her and went straight for the infamous Gallagher bat hanging on the hook by the stairs. “Mickey?” Her voice grew more agitated and he turned right back around heading out the door.

The song was still playing and he felt himself smile.

“Wrong window dipshit.” The driver chomped obnoxiously loud on a piece of gum and Mickey leaned his elbow on the door next to his fucking stupid face.

“Now this is really out of character for me so I’m only gonna ask once.” He put on his best face and damn near batted his eyelashes. “Will you _please_ turn off that sorry excuse for a happy summer song you love to blast through this neighborhood?”

He could see the unmistakable movement of Ian Gallagher out of the corner of his eye and thought for precisely .5 seconds that he should walk away from this and go over to him instead.

“Listen buddy,” The man behind the wheel cooed in a mocking voice as if he were talking to a child. “I can give you a free freeze pop as long as you promise not to tell your mom.”

Mickey smiled and white knuckled the bat. His head nodded and a chuckle escaping his lips. “– okay.”

He ripped open the door and dragged the guy out actually getting a kick out of the genuine shock and fear that now colored his features. The bat came down cracking hard against his shoulder.

It might have seemed petty – okay maybe just fucking insane but Mickey was pretty sure that no matter what happened to him, in this moment it was worth it.

Because Mickey could be ironic, he could be fucking _funny_. He brought down the bat _in time_ with the song. “How do you like this song now huh?” He frothed at the mouth. “Every fucking summer you can’t just change one song –“ _thwack_ “Your ice cream ain’t gonna save you now bitch!”

Two firm hands latched onto his shoulders and pulled him back in one swift motion. The bat fell from his hands and clattered onto the ground next to the bloody mess.

“Couldn’t wait til I got back for a good pounding huh?” The words laced with laughter were whispered hot into his ear and he shuddered against Ian’s own sweaty body.

Lip came rushing over and hopped over the driver flicking ash from his cigarette on him purposefully in the process. He was behind the wheel of the truck in seconds and then that bartender – the fuck was his name? Kevin – he was dropping down near them and ripping at the license plates.

“What the fuck?”

Ian laughed and it snaked itself into Mickey’s chest. “Their truck broke down. I think you just inadvertently solved the big issue of the day.”

But he didn’t care because the song god that _fucking_ song. “Gallagher – Please I swear I will literally drop down to my knees right now in the middle of this fucking street and give you the best blow job of your life if you just fucking—“

“Hey Lip!” Ian yelled loudly and Mickey saw the elder Gallagher shit give one last look before flooring it out of there. “Turn that fucking shit off!”

Kev laughed before jumping into the passenger seat and while the shitty white pedo ice cream trap became a smaller blip in his line of vision the song blared on.

Mickey turned around taking in one last deep breath and looked Ian directly into his eyes. “I will kill your brother one day. Mark my words.”

Ian rolled his eyes and walked over to collect the bat. The driver still lay curled on his side and he toed at his stomach for good measure. “Shoulda listened to him.”

Debbie walked over with her arms crossed having obviously been watching from the sidelines. She gave Mickey an almost menacing _no shit_ glare before walking up to her brother and grabbing the bat from his hands.

“Great, now I’ve gotta sanitize this.” Her cheeks flushed from anger or the heat, Mickey couldn’t tell. She jabbed him in the side on her way back. “You’ve got some serious anger management issues. Might wanna get those checked.”

He threw his hands up in the air and cringed at the migraine working itself into his head. It no more than 5 minutes of Ian and him walking back toward his house until the faint sound of another truck sounded – blasting the same fucking song – coming to help its fallen brethren.

He really hated summer. He really _hated_ ice cream trucks.

He didn’t quite hate all the ways Ian promised to distract him though – and for _that_ the ice cream truck association of America should be fucking thanking him.


End file.
